


Fading Away

by etoile_etiolee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Purgatory, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoile_etiolee/pseuds/etoile_etiolee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written before the beginning of season 8.<br/>Dean comes back from purgatory.  He's a little different.</p><p>Beta work by disneymagics</p><p>Disclaimer: No profits are made with this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Away

After the ritual is finished, Dean's body appears inside the circle. Sam lets go of the Latin book he's holding and runs for his brother. The woods are dark and cold. No stars tonight.

It had taken him three weeks to find the ritual, another week to gather everything he had needed. A month. Dean had been in Purgatory for a month and that’s assuming time passes the same way in Purgatory as it does topside. 

Dean's body is in a limp, crumpled heap on the ground. He's dirty; his clothes are ripped to shreds, his hair stuck in greasy strands on his head and he has a reddish-blond beard that seems the appropriate length for one month’s worth of growth. Sam's worry fades a little.

Dean almost immediately comes back to himself. It takes him a few minutes to really understand what's going on, that he's back, really back. He's weak, got some nasty wounds –some of them infected- and a hunted look, but it could have been worse. So much worse.

Twenty-four hours later, Dean is rested, clean, fed, and freshly shaved. He asks about Castiel; the angel had disappeared on him almost as soon as he woke up in Purgatory. Sam doesn't know anything about it. It worries Dean, Sam can tell, but his brother doesn't say much. There isn’t much they can do about it anyway. 

It takes a few days before Dean starts to talk about Purgatory. They're sitting at the counter of an empty restaurant, drinking a lot of coffee. Dean hasn't had a single drop of alcohol since he's been back. Sam figures if there's one good thing to come out of all this mess, it's that.

"It was always night out there," Dean says in a low voice, examining his fingers intently. "Couldn't even tell if it was hot or cold. Just… dark, woods and shadows everywhere. I could hear them… the monsters, sometimes caught a glimpse of moving shadows all around me. Saw red eyes looking at me all the time. At first, I was running. Don't know how many hours I ran before I collapsed. Then I realized they couldn't get to me. All the souls trapped in there are on their own, ya' know? We can sense each other, sometimes even feel if the other is close enough, but it's like… Each one is trapped in his own Purgatory. Like in Heaven, but without the budget."

"What about time, Dean? Did time progress differently?"

"Don't know. Kind of strange, too. It was like I was moving in a dream. Hard to keep track of time passing. In Hell, you're like… way too aware of each second that passes. In Purgatory, everything is the same and it's kind of easy to lose yourself. Was walking, most of the time, and the landscape was always the same. Shadows would shift or disappear when I came close, and then there would be new ones. Nothing to eat, or drink. Didn't really feel hungry or thirsty. It was just like this… distant ache. Sometimes I would stop and just lie on the ground. There wasn’t any grass or dirt. The ground was made of ashes, or something close to it. Sometimes I felt like I was flying."

"Jesus."

"Wasn't that bad Sammy. Honest. Most of the time, it didn’t even feel real. I didn't feel like myself. Didn't feel anything. Was numb all the time."

Dean empties his cup and smiles. "And now I'm back."

:::

They start hunting again. There are still Leviathans out there that need to be stopped, even though it's easier now that they're disorganized and confused. Weeks pass and Dean seems like his good old self; a little quieter, more serious than before, but Sam figures it's a small price to pay. As a matter of fact, maybe there's no price to pay at all because Dean… Dean seems at peace with himself for the first time in years. Maybe Purgatory really is a place where you can get a clean slate, like the Christian religion states.

Then, Sam starts paying more attention. Something has changed within his brother; Sam can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the way Dean moves silently and gracefully, more than he ever has before. Maybe it's the way he talks, like the words are coming out of his mouth with a cadence to them, almost melodic. He doesn't eat as much as he did before. But he sleeps soundly, more deeply than Sam has ever known him to.

One morning, Sam looks over to see Dean watching him from his bed, yawning. The light of the rising sun is lighting his face.

"Your eyes," Sam says.

"What?"

"It's like their color has changed. The green is lighter than before."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh."

Then, there's the hair thing. No matter how much gel Dean puts in it, his bangs fall gently onto his forehead shortly after. They look shinier, softer than before. After a while, Dean stops trying to spike it up the way he used to.

Dean runs faster. Sam realizes it during a hunt as they make their way through the woods to catch up with a werewolf. While Sam can't keep up, it’s like Dean is flying over the path.  
Sam doesn't like it.

One month after he had gotten Dean back from Purgatory, Sam wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that something's wrong. He turns toward his brother's bed and gasps in surprise.

Dean's body is levitating a couple of inches over the mattress. The covers are hanging strangely from his relaxed body. Sam shouts his name and his brother wakes up with a jolt, falling back onto the bed.

Dean stares at him intently with his new, lighter eyes and tells him that it must have been a dream. Neither of them really believe it.

Dean doesn't like to drive so much anymore. He prefers riding shotgun, always keeps his window opens however cold it is outside, and exposes his face to the wind. 

Sometimes, Sam gets the impression that he can see right through his brother. It never last long; one blink and it's gone, but it happens more and more often. Every once in a while he’ll watch Dean walk toward the street and suddenly be able to see the car parked behind him. It's not like Dean disappears; Sam can still see him, but he’s like a faded imprint of himself.

Sam doesn't sleep so good at night anymore.

One afternoon, three months after Dean's return, they're driving on a deserted road surrounded by woods somewhere in Montana in the middle of an electrical storm. The trees are bending in the violent wind and Sam can barely see the road beyond the ever-moving curtain of rain. The thunder is deafening. Dean is nervous and fidgety, can't seem to stay still even for a second. Then, suddenly, he starts shaking so violently his teeth are chattering and Sam has trouble making out the words he's saying. Stop the car. Please, Sam, stop the car now.

Sam parks the Impala on the side of the road. As soon as they’re stopped, Dean opens his door and starts running through the trees. Sam is stunned for a long second before he's out of the car and running after him, calling his name. The rain is so heavy it falls into his mouth and throat, choking him. The wind howls in his ears, already filled with the sound of his thundering heart.

He doesn't have to run for long. He finds Dean in a small clearing. His brother has undressed down to his boxers and he is standing very still, eyes closed and head bent backward. His arms are open wide, palms of his hands up. He's laughing, shaken by the wind and rain. Lightning strikes fall all around him.

Sam is scared. It takes him a long time to get Dean to move. His brother fights him, "No. Let me go. Need this Sam. Can't you see? S'what I need. Feels so good. So, so good."

They're both soaking wet when the get back to the Impala. Sam finds a motel room and locks himself in the bathroom, letting the hot shower spray fall on his numb face as he cries as silently as possible.

Something is wrong with his brother.

He starts researching that night.

They haven’t spoken much since the storm incident. Dean is quiet and sad. Sam is quiet and determined to find out what's wrong. It takes him almost a week before he figures it out. 

"Elemental," he says one evening as they're both sitting on the Impala's hood. 

"What?"

"Elementals are spirits, sometimes corporeal, sometimes not, that work as forces of nature."

"Oh."

"What happened to you in Purgatory, Dean?"

"I told you everything," Dean whispers, gazing up at the stars. "Didn't felt like myself out there. Like I was made of nothing but air… Too light to really feel, ya' know?"

"I guess it’s the same principal as in Hell. You stay in Hell long enough and you become a demon; you get stuck in purgatory and you become…"

"A monster," Dean says softly. "What kind of monster am I?"

"Elementals aren't malevolent spirits, except when the element they're coming from is endangered, or when they are summoned by humans wanting to use and bind them. There’s a ton of lore on them. I'm guessing, from what I saw, that you're a Sylphide. An air Elemental."

Dean doesn't say anything. He nods, then presses Sam's hand into his own. Sam is on the verge of tears again.

He won't let his brother go. As little sense as his life is making, there's nothing left to it if Dean's not there next to him.

They go on like that for another month. Dean doesn't talk or eat anymore. Doesn't pretend he's the man he used to be. They don't hunt. They drive around. Keep moving. Dean seems at his best when he's in the car, feeling the movement all around him, head tilted against the open window. He now has trouble staying in confined spaces, says he can't breathe and runs outside for air. He seems thinner and somehow more insubstantial while also emitting a strange glow from the inside, like an aura. It seems that everywhere they go, storms follow him. When they hear the wind howl, Dean smiles.

: : :

Three years ago, back when Sam had decided to say yes to Lucifer, he and Dean spent a night talking, lying on the grass in a field close to Bobby's house, drinking beer and looking at the stars. During that time, Dean had been more open than Sam can ever remember him being before. They had laughed a lot, too, remembering stupid stories from when they were young. Their emotions had been close to the surface, raw and heavy between them. Dean had talked about his own death that night, voice a bit slurry from drinking.

"Thinking about it all the time, now, Sammy, about what will happen to you… and us. Things could easily go wrong for everybody - Bobby and Cas and me and fuck… The whole world. It's the freaking Apocalypse. So. 'M probably gonna die and huh… Don't think I'll go back to Hell, but Heaven? Goddamn Stepford Wives paradise… I hate that place even more, I think. You know what I would like? Just… falling asleep. Feeling myself fade slowly away. And then, maybe I could finally rest."

It had been a tough night. For both of them. Sam will never forget it.

: : :

They can't go on like this. Sam knows it. Every day that passes is harder for Dean. His body is constantly strained and tensed, even in his sleep. His skin is pale, his eyes always seem to be looking far away, to a place Sam can't see or even imagine. They're at the end of the road, but Sam can't. Can't let his brother go. Please, don't make me. I need him.

Nothing he can do. Nothing. And now, Dean always looks like he's in pain. All the time. Sam sometimes hears him cry in the middle of the night. Hates himself for it. All of it. That's when he starts thinking about the conversation they had that night, three years ago. That's when he starts to let go of the egotistical bastard who is scared to be left alone that he's become.

It's a cold morning and they drive through a thick, white fog. Sam takes a small road running up a hill and, as they drive higher, the fog starts to lift, revealing thin, twisted trees and tall grassy patches bent down by the wind. Dean looks out his window, curled into the smallest shape he can make of himself, both of his hands pressed against the door. He makes Sam think of a caged animal. Sam swallows the lump in his throat and stops the car on the side of the road, near a rock cliff. They can see the ocean from there.

Sam gets out of the car, followed by Dean who looks intently at him but doesn't say a word. As another gust of wind blows around them, Dean's body seems to fade, as though the wind is blowing right through him. He smiles, takes a deep, shuddering breath. His translucent appearance subsides after several seconds. 

"Let's go," Sam finally says.

"Where?"

"You'll see."

They stand on a small platform over the agitated, dark waves of the ocean. Wind blows through their hair. It smells like salt and seaweed and chlorophyll. Dean's body is taught, his muscles shaking with the effort to just hold still. There's dampness in his eyes as he looks at the clouds moving rapidly in the sky.

"Remember what you told me about death that night before I said yes to Lucifer?" Sam asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and carefully looking away from Dean.

"Yeah, I do."

"No Hell, no Heaven. Just fading away."

"Yeah." 

Sam sighs and nods. "That's it, then." A hand presses his shoulder. 

"I can't keep holding on, Sam," Dean whispers almost sadly. "I'm trying, but it gets harder every day, like I have to keep myself from bursting into a thousand pieces. Every second of every hour, I have to think about it, you know?"

"I know. And I'm sorry, because I should have done this weeks ago. S'just… I'm fucking scared, man. Of being alone. There's no one left."

For the first time, Sam looks at Dean. "You can let go, Dean," he rasps. "I'll be okay. I'll take care of myself."

That seems to be all Dean needed to hear. He pulls Sam into a hug. They stay like that for a long time. Sam doesn't want to cry. Not now. He wants Dean to know he's okay with this. All of this. So he bites his lips hard and concentrates on the feeling of Dean's body close to his.

Then, Dean steps back and starts undressing. His clothes fall at his feet until he's naked in the cold. He doesn't shiver. He just sighs and turns toward the ocean, closing his eyes.

The wind blows harder all around them. Dean's clothes are picked up by a particularly strong gust and tossed off the edge of the cliff. A loud moan rips from Dean's throat and he falls on his knees, hands on the ground. There's something pulsing under the skin of his back, over his shoulder blades. The air gets colder and heavy with a smell that is unfamiliar to Sam. nearly transparent waves are emanating from Dean's body. Sam couldn't get closer to his brother at this point even if he were to try. Dean starts screaming and falls on his side on the ground. At the same time, there’s a tearing sound and two long, dark membranes tear the skin of his back. They're wet and hang heavily all the way to the ground. No feathers. But definitely wings.

Sam opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Dean gets to his feet and the wings flap around him, looking as thin and fragile as butterflywings. He turns his head and smiles at Sam. It's Dean's grin, the one Sam has known all of his life. If he has to leave, this is the was Sam wants him to do it, with his cocky smile and his raised eyebrow, winking at him one last time.

Another gust of wind howls in Sam's ears. Blows around him so hard he's scared he might fall forward. "I love you Dean," he yells over the deafening noise.

Then Dean's body starts to fade like it's finally letting the wind pass through him, and it doesn't take much time before he disappears completely in one last violent gust.

He's gone. 

Dean's gone.

Sam turns back without looking and gets in the car. He drives for a long time, until he doesn't have any tears left, until he can barely stay awake.

He thinks that Dean has always been a force of nature, that it figures if Purgatory wanted to turn him into a monster, Elemental spirits were what he came closest to.

Dean has always liked movement. Speed. Running. Driving. Moving through life is the only constant he's ever known. Sam likes to think that he's riding the wind like he has always driven his car: happily, fiercely, trying to catch that glimpse of freedom that always seems to be so close.

So close.

 

Fin


End file.
